Of Thieves and Chairs
by Lyra the Bard
Summary: In which Mercery Frey unfortunately has to deal with a young Brynjolf and his fascination for a certain chair within the Cistern. However, the Guild Master may have a trick up his sleeve regarding the matter.


Authoress' Note: I had always wondered why on earth Mercer's desk did not seem to have a chair near it and I wanted to write a little something that delves a bit into Mercer's personality. I personally like Mercer and I consider him to be one of my favorite characters in Skyrim. I have always seen him as a character that is not just some one-sided villain but as a person with his own personality, wants, and fears. I can't see him just as some super angry grouch all the time. However, if this story seems random and almost out of place… well it sort of is and I wrote it in a tired state when I should have been sleeping. I just hope you all enjoy it either way!

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Exhausted green eyes looked up from his desk, as solemn as the grave, holding little mirth or warmth to them. Mercer Frey sighed. The day had been long, dull, and completely boring. Sure, he had done a few contracts here and there, but nothing that really slaked his appetite as a master thief as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting back the pounding headache that had been building behind his eyes throughout the day. With so little heists and the few jobs that managed to trickle through, Mercer feared that the Thieves Guild would be in for another long haul, the days turning into weeks and seeming to morph into one single entity that was well known to him. Boredom, plain and simple, and even an experienced thief such as Mercer knew the dangers of boredom.

With boredom came inadequacy and with inadequacy came failure, two things that Mercer despised. And it seemed to be two things that the young redheaded Nord by his side loved, well, the inadequacy part anyway, though Mercer was quite sure he failed at lots of things. Mercer tried to ignore the boy but it became increasingly difficult as the squeaking noise ensued. Mercer's eye twitched. _Damn it!_ His teeth began to grind together and he thought with a fierce growl, his mind bordering on murderous as his brow furrowed, bringing out lines upon his forehead. When would this boy understand that he needed to be given his personal space?

It seemed to the young fourteen year old, the concept of personal space and work was out of the question as Mercer turned, eyeing the pale Nord with a look of disdain as his lip curled into a wolfish snarl upon noticing him placing his muddy boots on the desk and wiggling his toes. He didn't seem to have a concept of hygiene either as he watched the boy rock back and forth in the chair while Mercer stood near the desk, attempting to rummage through the last bits of paperwork he had to finish. He would have had it done earlier, only that Brynjolf had stolen his seat. Why the boy had such a fascination with his desk and chair, Mercer would never know as Bryn rocked back and forth a second time, causing the infernal squeak of a loose nail in the wood to drive Mercer nearly up the walls as he shut his eyes, opening them seconds later to hold back the anger threatening to spill over.

"Brynjolf," he said his voice rough and extremely dry.

Brynjolf didn't seem to hear him and continued on his merry little way as if Mercer didn't exist which raised the newly appointed Guild Master's ire as the wretched sound of old wood echoed through the Cistern again and again. Gods! That infernal racket! Mercer had to partially wonder if Brynjolf's former parents dumped him on account of the boy's annoying personality but kept his trap shut before deciding to repeat the boy's name a second time, this time with a bit of heat behind it.

"Brynjolf!"

The squeaking stopped…for about a second. Soon the aggravating noise started up again as Brynjolf merely grinned, revealing surprisingly white teeth underneath thin lips, his boyish face turning into something that reminded Mercer vaguely of a grinning fox as he continued rocking back and forth. "Yeah Mercer?" he said, his voice with its thick Nordic accent rolling. Mercer bore his teeth like a wolf would as each squeak brought another throbbing sensation in his head, forcing him to clench his teeth and his eyes to narrow. This boy was an idiot! Did he not understand that Mercer wanted to be left alone? For all he cared the boy could walk off and tumble into the lake outside of Riften, sinking into its dark depths. Hopefully he would drown so that he would cause no more trouble than he was worth. He sighed again. Why he ever let Brynjolf join the Thieves Guild, or taking him in for that matter, Mercer would never know either.

A moment of pity perhaps or maybe it was in praise of the boy's effort. He had caught him trying to search through his pockets when he had been out on an assignment with Gallus and his Dark Elf whore. The boy had been trying to steal some of the money Mercer had in the back pocket of his armor but had been very sorely disappointed when he had been caught that day, Mercer's hand stifling the boy's wrist in a relentless grip as the little Nord attempted to escape his grasp. Really, it hadn't been Mercer's decision, but he had to admit that the boy definitely had spirit. It was Gallus' lover, Karliah, who Mercer often referred to more as a whore than by her name, who asked if the boy could possibly join into which Gallus full heartedly accepted his lover's suggestion. Why Mercer ever agreed to the other two's wishes was something that baffled him, even to this day as he was drawn from his memory by the wretched squeaking that had plagued him for the last hour.

"Bryn," Mercer said harshly, coming extremely close to biting his own tongue in the process. "Can't you make yourself useful rather than acting like the annoying little brat you are?"

The boy smiled again, his flaming red hair contrasting with startling clarity of his eyes and skin. "No." _Talos be damned!_ Was that the only reply he was going to get from the little brat? It certainly seemed so as Brynjolf then took a different approach in disturbing his mentor and new Guild Master, rocking back and forth faster, causing the squeaking of the old chair to become one loud noise to Mercer's tired brain as he remained hunched over the desk near the boy. And it worked. Mercer was on the verge of exploding into a full blown rage. It was making his head pound, as if mimicking a person's heart beat, and he attempted to rub his eyes. It did little and Mercer made a mental note that later, he was going to go back to Riftweald Manor and get as drunk as possible, even if it meant making the headache worse in order to attempt to get rid of that insistent, annoying, and damn infernal sound.

It continued… and it continued for minutes afterward while Mercer's exasperation grew with each passing second. With each squeak, a pounding was felt in the back of his skull and behind his eyes, causing his anger to grow as it worsened. Contrary to popular belief amongst the Thieves Guild, Mercer wasn't some raving lunatic who flew off the handle at every little thing. It actually took some effort in order to get a rise out of him. Effort that Brynjolf seemed to expend on his own behalf and with great enthusiasm at that! The Breton thief's teeth ground together for the third time, or so it seemed, and no doubt scraped some of the enamel clean from them as his dark green eyes screwed shut in an attempt to block out the sound. He then set his sights on the impudent boy seated beside him as his brow furrowed. If it went on for much longer he was certain that the sound would ring in his ears for days to come as a groan slipped past his lips.

"Can't you do something else? Go annoy Delvin or better yet," he then smiled, "how about you go and bother Maven Black-Briar? See where that takes you."

Brynjolf only looked at him and blinked as he rocked back, stood still in his seat for a second or two, before rocking forward, drawing out a long noise from the wood which was not all too different in sound than Mercer's groan seconds earlier."You're not any fun," the Nord said with a sly grin. "Gallus never got angry at me." Mercer frowned again. He just had to bring up the former Guild Master's memory didn't he? It had only been a year or two since Gallus's death and already the Guild was on the decline. With Gallus dead, the Guild had lost more than a few contacts and with the loss of contacts, came the loss of money lining their pockets. Still… Gallus had been a fool. A stupid fool blinded by passion and greed.

"That's because Gallus was an idiot," Mercer replied, spitting the name out with a sharp hiss.

He noted an expression that he couldn't quite pin down stretch across Brynjolf's face in that moment and the movement that the young boy had been doing before ceased, the Cistern going completely silent in the process. Mercer would have breathed a sigh of relief but let his gaze remain fixed upon the thief at his side. Green met green as their eyes made contact. Mercer could not exactly describe the emotion across Bryn's face as he arched an eyebrow. The redhead did nothing at first. He was just looking at him with those sad eyes he sometimes got. Mercer could clearly remember Gallus being fooled by those puppy eyes and that Bryn often put on such a face to get what he wanted, but it never seemed to work on the newly appointed and surly Guild Master as the two looked at each other, neither saying a word and as soon as it had appeared, the look on the Nord's face vanished. After the span of ten to fifteen seconds, Mercer turned back to his work and began to write down in the ledger how much each member had earned in their heists when the squeaking began anew.

"Gallus wasn't stupid. He was pretty smart."

Mercer ignored the boy and concentrated on his work as a few strands of his dark brown hair tinged with light gray hung in his face before he brushed them back with a swipe of his hand. Anything to keep from going absolutely mad as the headache he had turned into a full-blown migraine. The Breton couldn't help it as he scowled, preferring to focus on what his great next heist could be. True, he was the leader of the Thieves Guild, but even he was called out for contracts and jobs every now and again as his eyes scanned the ledger book laid out in front of him, spread open to reveal numerous names and numbers as well as the locations of each heist. He jotted down the most recent that came to his memory from the report Delvin had given him earlier and was thankful that Brynjolf had shut his mouth even though the wooden chair was far from silent. Fine, Mercer thought. _I'll just block it out_. He tuned out the ruckus Brynjolf was causing as the Nord continued to rock in the seat, a few times even bending the chair back to where it leaned on the back legs, coming close to sending the redhead falling at least several times. However, the more he tried to ignore Brynjolf, the more agitated he became since the boy insisted on asking useless questions when he realized that Mercer was becoming desensitized to the noise the chair made.

_How old are you really?_

_Ever had a girlfriend?_

_Ever got caught on a heist?_

_Hey! Mercer!_

As if by fate or perhaps Nocturnal herself took pity on Mercer for once, the squeaking became one long groan and Brynjolf's voice stopped midsentence before breaking out into a little yelp as the sound of splintering wood on stone echoed in the room. The Guild Master pulled his eyes away from the ledger and beheld the form of Bryn, spread-eagled, with the remnants of the chair lying beneath him. The Nord blinked almost stupidly as he just laid there for a few seconds, Mercer glaring at him as his darker green eyes hardened considerably, searing into the boy's skull.

"Congratulations. That's the fifth chair you've ruined in the past month and gods know how many from your time with us," Mercer said as his eyebrow, showing hints of gray in it like his hair, rose high on his forehead as Brynjolf nearly bolted into an upright position, his butt still in contact with the floor.

Mercer had to briefly wonder if the boy had splinters from the fall as Bryn's eyes widened. He then looked up at Mercer with fear of punishment evident in his gaze. He'd never broken the chair around Mercer and only when the Guild Master had been away from his desk and out doing a contract for the Guild. To be right by him meant certain death to the boy as he stared, eyes filled with shock and Mercer couldn't help but grin, his teeth flashing like a feral wolf's as the young Nord attempted to speak but every time he tried, his mouth would open, but no words would form. Mercer said nothing. Brynjolf said nothing. Both of them just looked at each other for a few tense seconds before Bryn jumped to his feet, already taking off towards the Ragged Flagon, his bright red hair whipping about his face. He was probably heading there to hide behind Delvin, Mercer concluded, as he then looked back down to the ledger he had on the edge of his desk, ignoring the boy's cowardice, and moving it as he heard the door leading from the Cistern to the Flagon slam shut.

The sound reverberated, dying down a few seconds afterward, and so did Mercer's splitting headache. Mercer breathed out, finally glad that the root of his pounding head was gone as he let his lips curl into a sly grin, pulling out of his breast pocket a small nail, laying it upon the table and watching as it rolled before stopping dangerously close to the edge, the sharpened tip hanging precariously. It had been about damn time, he thought. He had wondered if the chair was ever going to break and that the waiting had been part of his irritation as the corner of his lip curved. He was evil and he knew it as he watched the nail dangle for a moment before rolling completely off and striking the floor. It was worth it, even if it was just to see the look on Brynjolf's face as Mercer made a sideways glance towards the ruined chair, making a mental note that he would clean it up later as he looked back down to the ledger, picking up the quill by his side and scratching in numbers, names, and dates. He would have to remind Delvin to forget about getting a new one as his smirk curved, his voice chuckling softly as the nail finally stilled, coming to a halt and blending into the color of the stone.


End file.
